cong you bing
by RebelzHeart
Summary: Moments between Cass and Barbara. Oneshot


Cass sprawls over Barbara's chair, catlike and lithe, wrapped in her Black Bat-cape. It pools around her, draped across her folded body like water over a riverbank, and she is silent as she watches Babs work.

Babs is content enough in the silence until she finishes her work when she stretches and tilts her head at Cass' direction. "Want some..." she checks the time, "...dinner?" Had the time really passed that quickly? She could have sworn that she hadn't even had lunch yet. Actually, come to think of it, she _definitely_ hadn't had lunch yet. Oops. She'd have to rectify that tomorrow, but ah, well. What's done had been done.

Cass unfolds, fingers rubbing the edges of her cape, and Babs watches with a silent, knowing stare. Cass isn't comfortable yet to come out of the suit, so she stays, knowing that the suit brings danger but also knowing that the suit is more bulletproof than plain little Cassandra Cain could ever be.

"Should I want... more?" Cass asks softly, fingers fiddling, moving, never stilling, unsure of how to.

Barbara very carefully turns her eyes away from Cass. She rubs her eyes and they drift over to a poster that Dick had stuck up on the wall a while back, a _Voltron: Legendary Defenders_ poster that he had the cast sign for her. "More what?" she asks carefully, slowly. A question before assumption.

Cass twists the chair, the _creak_ of her weight the only sound in the room for a moment before she says quietly, "I'm not ambitious."

Barbara feels her lips twitch down into a small frown as she recalls Cass in the gym in the middle of the night, eyes narrowed as she doubles over and snaps, _I'm too slow_. Remembers feeling her arms give up from the chin ups even as Cass keeps going, eyes narrowed. _I need one hundred,_ Cass says, even as Barbara's arms give around fifty. Remembers Cass learning how to read Mandarin despite the fact that she barely learned English.

"I don't know," she says, raising an eyebrow, "I think that you're plenty ambitious. You're always pushing yourself to be better."

"Best," Cass agrees, Barbara swallowing down the instinctive anger that comes from the too-high expectations that Cain had put on Cass, "But no more."

Barbara's eyes trace the lines of the poster, the faded edge from where Damian had picked at it, frustrated as Dick scolded him for jumping in front of a knife for Dick's sake, the peeled edges of the tape and that one corner covered by duct tape because Jason had accidentally shot it. "There's no more after best," she says, "Best is the furthest that you can go."

"Nothing... new," Cass shakes her head, "I like... family. Warmth. No more."

"I like you, too, Cass," Barbara says, almost an absent-minded habit while her mind tries to fit together the implications of Cass's words, "You mean... you don't want to try new things?"

"Don't need more," Cass tilts her head, "Learning is..." she stands up and twirls a little, arms held over her head like a ballerina, and then leaps high, landing smoothly, bowing, an arm outstretched with a flourish.

"Exciting?" Barbara supplies.

Cass nods, "But money and house is," she lifts her shoulders up to the bottoms of her ears, and they droop again.

"You don't like having money and a house?" Barbara frowns a bit, "Why?"

"Not so," Cass shakes her head, patient as ever. "Is... good. But not all."

"It's not everything," Barbara agrees.

"No need," Cass bobs her head into a nod.

Barbara takes a minute to digest. "So you like having a money and a house," Cass nods jerkily, "But you don't need it," another fierce nod, "...so long as you have your family."

Cass offers two thumbs up. "Bad?" she asks hesitantly.

"Is it... bad to be happy when all you have is your family?" Barbara tries.

Cass nods. She doesn't twiddle with her thumbs or anything, doesn't deflate, still looks as imposing as ever, as tall and proud and strong as the Black Bat. She's like Bruce in that way, more vulnerable with her words, but her body is always trained to be strong, look strong, so that if someone is powerful enough to know how to look at her, she still looks like a powerhouse. She was trained that way, and it makes Barbara sad at times, even though it's useful.

"No," Barbara quickly shakes her head, "Of course not."

Cass's mask shifts, that way it does when she's pursing her lips together or thinking deeply about something. "Won't be successful."

Barbara smiles wryly, "It depends on your definition of success."

Cass tilts her head to the side.

Barbara wheels forward, reaching out to take one of Cass's hands, "Come on," she says, "Let's get dinner, and you can think about it."

"Words are hard," Cass murmurs as she trails after Barbara. "More than one meaning, but no meaning at all."

"It's difficult," Barbara agrees, "I still have trouble wrapping my mind around it. I'm lucky that I grew up speaking English."

"You know..." Cass taps the side of Barbara's head, gentle but firm, "But I know..." she touches both their heads.

Another moment to think, this time Barbara's turn to digest. Talking to Cass is hard, sometimes, not because Cass isn't wonderful, but because Cass makes Barbara think, think of the way she views herself and the world. "I know how to say what's in my head," she settles on saying, "But you know what's at the forefront of everyone's minds."

"Forefront," Cass tastes the word, "Yes. What they want to do."

"You know everything in the moment," Barbara agrees, "And I spend more time on the long-term."

Cass pulls off her mask, somewhere between Cass and the Black Bat, between the dark haired girl and the silent shadow, "Bad?"

"Different," Barbara squeeze's Cass's hand, "Not bad."

A beat while Cass mulls it over in her head, "In-between."

"Yeah," Barbara agrees warmly. "What do you want to eat for dinner?"

A crooked, hopeful sort of smile, "Pancakes!"

Barbara laughs, not bothering with the teasing _for dinner?_ That sort of thing never phases Cass, but it makes her think things through sometimes, as though she's digesting that it isn't normal, and Barbara has figured it's unnecessary to tease someone who doesn't banter with quips and words. She teases Cass differently from the others, and it's better that way, she finds, "The Japanese soufflé kind or the diner kind?"

Cass scrunches up her nose in thought, "Soufflé."

"Soufflé it is," Barbara releases Cass's hand and pulls her hair back into a braid, deciding on a Dutch braid. She hadn't washed her hair this morning, so she figures that it's better pulled back, roots hidden. "You change and we'll walk?"

Another thumbs up, Barbara smiles, and all is right in the world.

* * *

"Scallion pancakes," Barbara says, sighing at the dried, oily mess of dough and the burnt green onions in her pan. "Sorry, Cass, we might have to eat leftovers."

"No matter," Cass says, clicking the middle of _matter,_ the hard _tt_ sound, against the back of her teeth. She has been doing that, lately, enjoying the way that words come. Barbara likes it, she thinks, that Cass is having fun with words, that they have become more fun, as of late, less of a burden on her. "I like your food."

Barbara smiles as her chest twinges, warm and grateful at Cass' words. "Thanks. Sorry, I was hoping these would turn out okay."

Cass moves to pinch them between her fingers and Barbara tenses. Cass, blinking, quickly pulls her hands back and reaches for a nearby fork instead. "Forgot," she says, apologetically, a bit red faced.

"No problem," Barbara quickly answers, waving a hand in front of her face. "You don't have to eat them. They're a mess."

"Tried," Cass takes a bit and blows on it before putting it in her mouth. She scrunches up her nose, forehead wrinkling, and then pokes the pancake before shaking her head. "Gross."

Barbara laughs at Cass' childish response. "Yeah, they're a bit overcooked."

" _Burnt_ ," Cass says, shooting her a stern look, as though to say _they're far more overcooked than just 'overcooked'_ in not as many words. "Next time?"

"Of course next time will be better," Barbara says, straightening her back, "Who do you take me for?"

Cass' lips twitch, and she presses her fingers to her lips, holding down a laugh. "Not too bad," she tries.

"Oh, I see how it is," Barbara raises an eyebrow, "So you'd have no problem with finishing eating it all?"

Cass makes a horrified expression, pulling back and curling her lips, vehemently shaking her head.

Barbara snickers, "That's what I thought. C'mon, Cass, pull out the leftovers, let's eat some real food."

She gives the burnt pancake to Dick later, who makes a face but eats it anyways, but right now, with Cass, she enjoys some food that's actually decent.

* * *

Cass likes watching her family, and Barbara is no exception.

Her brothers, they are good as well, but Barbara moves in a way that implies it isn't her natural form. Where Dick is loose limbs and Jason is sharp jerks, Barbara is carefully calculated routes, fingers always in movement but shoulders usually still. Where Tim is a bent back and Damian is a bit too stiff, too grounded, Barbara is a straightened back and set shoulders, as though she's always prepared to knock down some stubborn obstacle.

Jason watches people, Tim looks at environment and evidence. Barbara looks at both. She's like Bruce, that way, and Cass finds it interesting, the ways they all bleed into each other, merge into each other.

"Learning Chinese?" Barbara asks, peering over Cass' shoulder to look at her computer screen. Damian pulls his away when that happens, but it makes Cass happy when her family looks over her shoulder like that. They do it, she knows, because they want to know what she's doing, and she can't find any fault in that.

"Interesting," Cass hums, tipping her head back to rest it against Barbara's shoulder. "You?"

"Not doing much," Barbara hums, "Just thinking of reading a nice book. Any recommendations?"

Cass doesn't read much. She doesn't like it, far prefers reality, the movement of humans and the smell of the air and the touch of the world beneath her fingertips. So she shakes her head, shrugging. "Bruce?"

Barbara scrunches up her nose, "Bruce has terrible taste in books," she answers mournfully, "Too much non-fiction to be really relaxing. To be honest, I'm still not sure if Bruce knows what it means to relax."

Cass laughs, muffling it behind a hand, because of _course_ Bruce knows, but she knows that it's different between Barbara and Bruce, that it's between the two of them, so she doesn't say anything, just shakes her head and tries to think some more, before, decisively, "Jason?"

"Great taste," Barbara agrees, ruffling Cass' hair.

Cass laughs, leaning in to the touch, and Barbara smiles as she tucks a piece of of hair behind Cass' ear. "Stay?"

"I was planning to," Barbara agrees, inclining her head, "So long as you don't mind?"

To show how ridiculous she finds that, Cass shakes her head a bit, and Barbara laughs again, because she perfectly understands what Cass means, knows that her presence is always welcome and that was never in question.

So Barbara leans against Cass, a book in her lap, shoulders curling over as she reads, and Cass listens to her Mandarin words through headphones. She likes times like these, times where she can be still and just be content, knowing her family is with her, so though Cass likes to move, she stays still, and is content.

* * *

"On your six, C," Comes Oracle's sharp voice in her ear, Cass turning and ducking down as she watches the two men shuffle by, crates in hand. "You got this?"

"Yes," Cass says quietly, and then she is Not-Cass, she is Black Bat (language is funny, this way, how who you are changes with what you do). She moves fast, smooth, knocking over the men and leaning quietly over then. "Questions?"

The man who she left conscious makes scared noises, his hands wrapped around her ankle. She presses her foot a bit more on his chest, to make sure he does not try to do any 'funny business', as Steph would say.

"Ask about the route," Oracle says, "I'll record it, so you don't have to memorize."

Black Bat asks about the route, Cass makes a grateful noise to Oracle for the help.

The questions and answers are recorded, the men pass out, and Cass stands over the bodies, unsure of what to do. She asks Oracle, who makes a vague humming noise.

"You sure that you can't just leave them?" Oracle asks, sighing.

"Not nice," Cass points out.

A moment of silence. Cass does not mind, she does not get antsy. She knows that Oracle is thinking, it does not mean connection is lost between the two, though it is sometimes strange (she plays the little game, the one she plays with Bruce, saying other words to make what she means clear. She means hard, difficult, confusing) when she cannot see torsos and limbs to show her what is being said.

"I'll send someone to help," Oracle says, at last. "Would you prefer a cape or cops?"

"Batgirl and cops?" Cass asks hopefully. She likes the word _cops_ , the shortness of it, the hard _k_ sound, the slow, decrescendo of the _s_ as the word leaves her tongue.

"Sure thing," Oracle says.

Cass sits down and waits. "Thank you," she says.

And it is Barbara, not Oracle, who replies warmly, "No prob, C."

* * *

"It's good," Cass says, curling up against Barbara as that show about the people in video games plays out across the screen. A soon as she had climbed in through the window, Barbara had shoved a plate of scallion pancakes at her, jaw set as she asked, _taste?_ It's flaky on her tongue, salty where most pancakes are sweet, savoury where most aren't. It's more doughy, but different from bread. It reminds her more of... hm... ah, she can't think of something to compare it to, but she likes it, how it tastes like it could fill her up like a meal rather than dessert.

"I know," Barbara sighs, shoulders unwinding, uncurling, "I don't know what I was so worried about. You sure there's not too much oil?"

"It's good," Cass repeats, reassuringly, as she pats Barbara on the shoulder. "What are we watching?"

"Sword Art Online's new season," Barbara smiles at Cass.

Cass hums as she sits on the back of the couch, legs crossing over each other, "Very pretty."

"The story's not half bad either," Barbara nudges Cass, the edges of her lips tugging up to show that she's teasing. "How was your night?"

"Good," Cass cheerfully answers, twirling around, "Exciting fights."

"So you against, what, a million people?"

"Not a _million_ ," Cass takes another bite of the pancake, and then adds, wryly, "Maybe a thousand."

Barbara laughs at her joke, loud and short, like it's startled out of her. Cass ducks down her head and smiles, pleased, that she made Barbara laugh like that, as though she hadn't expected it, hadn't fully planned it before it escaped her. "All in a day's work, then."

Cass nods, takes another bite, and then, lighting up, pulls out her phone and eagerly taps away. Barbara raises an eyebrow and Cass says, quickly, "葱油饼!"

A quirk of Barbara's lips, "I'm not Bruce," she says, more teasing than anything else.

"What these are called," Cass says, tapping the bowl excitedly.

"Ah, right," Barbara taps the side of her nose, "I think these _are_ traditionally Chinese."

Cass beams, seeing through Barbara easily, "For me?"

Barbara reddens a bit, but remains firm, maintaining eye contact with Cass. "Okay, maybe."

"Aw," Cass leans forward, wrapping her arms around Barbara, "Love you."

"Love you, too," Barbara pats Cass's back, and then the two of them sit back on the couch, enjoying the show. And Cass knows people, she knows limbs and torsos and faces, but she is learning a world of touch that is kind rather than cruel, she's learning a world of food and taste and sitting back on couches and not doing anything, and she is learning to love this world, just as well.


End file.
